Any to Come
by bando2
Summary: Any To Come (ATC)—A gambling term used to describe when the whole or part of returns from one wager are automatically reinvested on a subsequent bet. or Another story on how Clint Barton and Natasha Romanov came to work for S.H.E.I.L.D. under Phil Coulson.


**Disclaimer:** It's all owned by Marvel and Stan Lee.

**A/N:**I took some things from comic canon for back story, but I used them as one might for a movie which is to say I haven't read the comics so I am probably not true to them. Originally posted for the 2012 ineedmyfic exchange on LJ and written for lithiumlaughter. I am just trying to get all my writing in one place.

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{14 October 2006: S.H.I.E.L.D. Detention Facility: 0300}

_Clint Barton was going to be the death of him._

Coulson pinched the bridge of his nose desperately trying to stave off a headache. Maybe it was because he came from a circus upbringing. Coulson had always hated the circus. Even as a child it had been too...messy, loud and impossible to keep track of what all was going on.

Well, he certainly had a mess on his hands now, he thought, as he moved with purpose through the corridors of S.H.I.E.L.D. He stopped in front of an interrogation room and studied the woman within through the one way glass. She was pretty of course-gorgeous actually, but Coulson knew that went with the job. He looked deeper. There were tiny lines around her eyes even as she sat relaxed that indicated an early life of worry. She was subtly but methodically tensing and relaxing groups of muscles to present a calm, relaxed front, but inwardly he knew she was on high alert.

"What were you thinking?" He bit off to the man who was waiting behind him. Most people wouldn't have known that Clint Barton approached, but then, Phil Coulson wasn't like most people.

"I was thinking that a man once took a chance on me."

{19 May 2003: Waverly, Iowa: 1800}

Thwack...Thwack. Load, pull, release. The rhythmic action of shooting the bow calmed Clint's nerves as he tried to forget the drunk jeers of the man at the bar. Luckily, the bartender had been an old friend, and his word that Clint was merely defending himself had been good enough for the local cops. Suddenly he spun around, arrow trained on the man standing behind him. A suit, dark glasses,

_Ugh the Feds._

"I made my last check in with my parole officer. And that bar fight wasn't my fault." He kept his voice low and menacing. Unfortunately, the man didn't look ruffled at all.

"I'm not here about any of that Mr. Barton."

Clint turned and let loose two more arrows-perfect bulls eye- before he took the bait. "Then why are you here,"

"I'm here about Trickshot."

Clint spun around again, the tip of his arrow inches from the man's face. "Don't mention that name to me." he bit off angrily.

Suddenly he felt the tension leave his bow and watched in disbelief as the man slid a small but obviously razor sharp knife back up his sleeve. "I didn't take you for a coward Barton, but you're letting them win."

Clint didn't reply instead he called for a halt, and when he got the all clear, he stalked to the target and removed his arrows with more force than necessary. When he returned he sheathed his arrows and picked up his bow. "I don't suppose we can have coffee somewhere?"

Coulson let out a small smirk. "I'll have the driver stop at Starbucks, we can talk in the car.

"So," Clint said after a while settling back into the leather seat and sipping his coffee, "Let me get this straight, you want me to use my powers for good, instead of evil." There was no mistaking the mocking tone in his voice.

Coulson frowned at him, "Whether you use them for evil, or not at all, you're letting them win. We've been watching you Barton, and we know you're more than unskilled labor."

Clint was skeptical, "I've got a record, and a past. The Feds don't want me."

Coulson raised an eyebrow, "Because Feds carry knives up their sleeves. Think Barton, you're not stupid."

Clint had had enough, "Well then tell me what I am, damn it, since you think you know me so well."

Coulson was silent a moment studying him, "You're a man who was wrongly accused and got in over his head quickly." There was the tiniest trace of sympathy in his voice. "You want to do the right thing and you and I both know that you're the only person who knows Trickshot well enough to be one step ahead of him.

He wasn't buying it. "Bar—Trickshot was one of you, don't you people have a whole department dedicated to taking down rouge agents or something?"

_"I_ would not have let it get out this of hand," Coulson sounded affronted. "Look Barton, I'm giving you a second chance—he glanced out the window as they passed the construction site where Clint had spent his days for the last six months, "Unless you want to work construction for the rest of your life."

Clint was silent for a long while as images and memories of his past—most of which included Trickshot—went through his mind. Then his face became set and he asked quietly, "What do I have to do?"

{14 October 2006: S.H.I.E.L.D. Detention Facility: 0302}

Coulson raised eyebrow, "You had pertinent information to a high priority mission and skills that would be useful in the future," he offered mildly, though he didn't turn from looking at the woman on the other side of the glass.

"Bullshit Phil, the blonde man stated harshly. I know you went behind Fury's back when you brought me on, and just because you won the bet doesn't mean it wasn't the biggest gamble of your career. And you don't gamble."

Coulson's shoulders lost some of their rigid tension, "If this doesn't work out you know it's both our asses'."

Clint didn't bother to dignify that statement with a response

{5 May 2012: S.H.I.E.L.D Regional Headquarters: 0030}

Coulson took a moment that he didn't have to steady his hands as he pulled out his cell phone and held down the number 9 speed dial. When he spoke, his voice was calm and collected and he thanked a God he didn't really believe in that he was able to get out the last line without a waiver.

"It's Barton, he's been compromised."

"I'm on my way."

He hung up and let out a small sigh of relief. He didn't gamble as a general rule, but then the two of them had been a sure thing since Budapest, so he supposed it wasn't really a gamble. He picked up his briefcase and headed for the car. It was the next name on his list that was the real loose cannon and there was nothing he could do about it.

If there was anything Tony Stark took pride in it was being a loose cannon.


End file.
